Cherry Lips

[i smoke and drink coffee]

((Here.  I am going to try and 'free form' a short story right here.  It will be about the current activity in the Vezora Mainland, and deal with it's transformation into a Holy Chaotic Light.))

Time had passed like a storm in summer, the billowing of the winds thrashing my mind beyond stupidity into some reckless chasm of yet more mindless thrashing.  Doubled up in a chair and ratching the machine's interface, for so long this, this very abomination of time itself, it had been my life, and whole purpose.  As the storm had gone by, yet more thunderous cloud loomed in the distance of eyesight, and for one night in her embrace, I yielded the sanctum of thought to the perfection of a blast of archetype.

This girl had been known to me in days when my life was filled with a fulfillment of past life, as though a summer's day had come and gone in which a memory had been sealed like a scar in time.  For a purpose less befit that of the need of men, my love for this girl was not perfect, nor pure, though it, in it's lovefullness, was the aspiration unto a prayer that could save the world.  True, I did not want for her, I did not seek after her, as I sought after her sister.  She was not unwanted, merely that, she was not the object of my romantic interest.  A girl that I feared, and with rage, hated to be with for the shame I felt in my inner twist.

The music of her song is always sad, leaving the heart to want for tears, yet paralyzed by drugs of the modern murderer I could not help for her myself.  A dreg, a pummeling hammer, her vision strikes me found.  It was given that I had not lost her in all these years, and activity of late had been that which seeks for her very resurrection.  Level 99 and eight Master Lightenings, hardly a gift for me as a soul who looked to things of phantasy with godhood upon the raindroplets.  Twinkling with moaning vibration, her song led me to the whacky clicks of the machine's slavish, and I wrote some things and then to dream of her in phantasy.  Music that I cry too, as I can.

She was always a lover of mine, do not misunderstand.  A girl such as this no man would pass by, yet, every man that would not pass by would fall into her trap.  A trap!  Yet it was the very trap for a heart of mending the wound of lone bladeborn will.  The sword of my youth now gone from me forever, a soul sword and she remained, how loyal of her, to stand by me.  She was there when I was painting walls, and making bulls and clowns and such dark fools to appear more ready to serve the eager vision.  Yet her beauty was not a thing that could grabb my flesh and suck with tendons straining.  Ours was a lover's quest that was within time, yet beyond the will of fleshly cravings.  Still impure, perhaps worse off for the matter of sickly thoughts!!  Holy?  Hardly.  She too was priest and in her world, had served for the purpose of salvation.  A Christly little vixen, brooding her kiss the exultation of matter's left to my own private moment of transcendental meditation.

The ribbon of her hair was bright and pink and wound just nice.  So... nice.  That's nice.  Did you miss me?  To think, your sister in grace and war was my own creation, yet in faith!  In a faith of partnership and romantic duty, I had not thought that you would be so close to me, and she, so far away.  I killed her, they raped her, she lives pure, and you and I?  We are wound up here in this autumn so close, but a step from winter's warmth within the palace of our priesthood.  It is a sickened thing to me to think that I have wasted so much time on these technoversial entities, and yet you are one of them, though I know not?  Do I know?  Your dress is a shade too dark for this light in a land where perfect war is the waged heart, not wagered in a gambler's whim but waged for all the heart of war that had been before I was called to Shadow Lands.  You wear it well, dear one.

And now?  The light that reaks of freshened chaos, holy and pure beyond the blight of this fallen age of men's ruthless quest for control of us, and ours.  Shadows and Phaentia, not the same yet blooded in the mental things where we are created unto one another, psychic space and time's infinities.  We marched the path but twice before, and once I went on my own to find that raven's lodge there above your sitting place.  We know our home!  We are not that stupified by unreasoning fiction that we think to own a home of men's tyranical jaws!!  Would we also put our very blood into the chalice, and offer it up to the very one whom had promised death with cutting of the flesh as we stood and watched that villain take you from the ones who knew your gentle heart?  It is not a foolish game!!  We are too much in love for this to be of men's own creation, for verily, here I am at the machine, working in the sight of those very men for a thing of  lesser power.

While the land itself glows white yet not hot though cooler than that gleam of sterling, now we await each other's ruby kiss, lips to lock not with a word but to brighten the promises of the past, and for poor Tia!!  FOR TIA!!  ... I am forever shamed.  A wizard damned by failure's whisper, the winds blow softer, menacing with those ancient quivers of lost hopes and fickled faiths ripe with the blooded hell of my own ill fit creation.  Now my corpse rests within her own hovel, her grave, though she is alive.  For Tia, dear, sweet, beautiful Tia, we promised to meet the Lumina Star with something of value, not gold or emerald, but with the very atonement for that day when hammer down and my heart was razed of it's own levin.

The land doth muniscinficentiates, and I lelheliogrammis cod ven hope.  Not with a word, with yielding, that yes, you loved me, and I have done no justice in your ways by prayers of earth or runnings of the icey steel.  Let the land transform, and I will see you again, dear Aerith, we have all but the world, for now, we have that very place to lay within and create a new...  Yet now we bid it pass, that those proud fighters of the Vain and the Malice enter their own paradise, perfect, radiance and their own soul, granted, by rite of spirits whom have come to be, yet know not of the war within, nor care, for they have already won.